Living with an apostrophe can be tricky…

Category Archives: Transitions

Brandon has begun to travel more often for work. And the kids and I have developed a sort of rhythm through it all. They miss their daddy deeply, but they navigate his absence beautifully. Eliza (when she notices he’s actually gone…she’s a mama’s girl through and through) gives me lots of hugs and will randomly say “I miss daddy.” Jamie will shed some tears throughout daddy’s absence, but he takes great pride in being my helper and partner while Brandon’s gone.

But our favorite thing: while daddy is out of town, J knows he gets to sleep in our bed. Each and every night I will sneak into the kid’s room, get him out of his bed and put him in mine. He disappears under the heavy weight of our comforter and makes his way over to snuggle with me throughout the night. I love it. He wont be little forever, these moments are sweet.

[Now, before you feel bad for Eliza, we are not neglecting her. From her birth, Eliza has always been terrible at sleeping with another person in sight or close enough to touch. When she sleeps with me in a hotel room, she flips and turns the whole night and wakes up to talk to me throughout. It’s best for her (and us!) that she stay in her bed.

And, somehow, sweet baby girl has yet to notice that Jamie sleeps in my room. Sure, he sleeps on the top bunk and she’s not tall enough to see that he’s gone, but she’s a smart girl and he’s terrible at keeping secrets…I just expected her to figure it all out by now. So I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. ]

As I was saying, usually our routine goes pretty smoothly. But, every now and then it feels like everything crumbles.

Take this morning for instance: After not falling asleep until after midnight, I woke up with a bad dream at 5:15 a.m. Before I could go back to sleep, Eliza came into the room wide awake. So, I snuck out of the room with her (so she didn’t notice Jamie) and settled her on the couch. My alarm usually goes off at 5:30 so I can start making lunches, become a person, etc. So I made coffee a little bit early and began my day.

At 5:50 a.m. Jamie came out, bleary eyed and upset because he also had had a bad dream.

By 6:15 a.m. we found ourselves here. Two kids playing with Legos, wide awake. I clung to my coffee and read my Bible and they played kindly. E had already gotten herself dressed for the day. At 6:15 in the morning.

I feel like it’s important to pause here and make sure you know something: we don’t leave till 8 a.m. to walk the 3 blocks to school. J doesn’t usually wake up till after 7. Eliza is usually up around 6 or 6:15. Neither kid is dressed till 7:30 or later. None of this was normal.

I usually don’t handle these types of mornings well. I’m not what you would call a morning person, so there’s a reason I wake up before my entire family. It’s good for all of us that mama has an entire cup of coffee before parenting (or being a wife to) anyone.

But to my surprise, peace was rich in our apartment. I was patient. They were kind. We took time to listen to each other. Everyone ate a good breakfast. We made it to school on time. By 8:30 I had picked up the apartment, made my bed, and settled down to work. I even have a little makeup on (preparation for a Zoom call later).

Nothing. about. this. is. normal.

As I fight through the overwhelming exhaustion behind my eyes, it occurs to me that perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised by any of this.

I have been praying fiercely for peace lately. There has been a whole lot of difficult in our house as we shepherd the sweet soul of our oldest. He’s grappling with big things, and we’re in the thick of it with him. Exhaustion is our constant companion, grief is rich, chaos sometimes seems unavoidable, peace can seem so distant.

I don’t know that I have a point to all of this yet, except to say: sometimes I am so surprised when God answers my prayer that it takes me a while to even notice. This time is no different. Overwhelming exhaustion and all, I am deeply thankful for a faithful God even in the midst of my own faithlessness.

The moment completely caught me off guard. I was sitting in a room full of 50 or so moms in a Manhattan church classroom.

I had known these women for only a few months and had already enjoyed getting to know them each. They came from different areas in the United States and abroad. They had different stories. But we were all united in the fact that here we were…moms of young kids doing our best to raise those littles in New York City.

Each meeting started the same: after a time of fellowship, we would all sit down and answer some sort of ice breaker question.

“Since all of us have been pregnant, why don’t you each give me your best pregnancy advice,” one of our group leaders (newly pregnant) said.

All of us have been pregnant?

And before I had much time to think of it, tears rushed to my eyes. As discreetly as possible, I looked at my phone with urgency and then left the room as if I had a phone call. Nobody thought anything of it.

It was more than 11 years ago that I had found out getting pregnant might be difficult. And for so long I yearned, I longed, I obsessed over that biological child.

But now, I had two beautiful children at home and had begun to rejoice and delight in the way God had written our story. If you’ve read anything I’ve written over the past few years, you know that I have experienced God’s incredible healing deeply in the midst of my brokenness.

And here I was crying over that infertility that I hadn’t given thought to in years.

But this time it wasn’t that I was crying over the lack of a biological child. I wasn’t weeping the same tears I had many years before.

No, these tears were new. But their source has been my constant companion: Barrenness.

Barrenness.

This morning I was reading Psalm 113 and I saw something I’d never noticed before

He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children. Praise the Lord. (Psalm 113:9)

I have become a mom in a very different kind of way. A way that runs straight into the brokenness of our world and embraces the redemption inside of it. A way that walks the tight rope of that brokenness almost every day.

A way that strangers around me have felt free to question. A way that not all of our family members have understood.

A way that has created a very different sort of woman than I was 12 years ago.

A way that, yes, sometimes makes me feel odd and misunderstood when surrounded by more “normal” moms.

And a way that asks me to embrace my brokenness instead of denying it and allow it to be used for the good of others. And, if I’m honest, that sometimes stings.

I cried that day not for the biological child I cannot have. No, I cried that day because I didn’t want to be defined by my barrenness. I wanted to exist outside of it. But, I’m beginning to think God is asking me to instead embrace it. Live in it.

When I walked back into the room that day, I chose not to share what I had just experienced. And I think that was a mistake. Over the last year this group has become a significant source of encouragement for me. Many of them have become dear friends. I should have trusted them then but the truth is, I didn’t want their pity.

But if I had it to do all over again, I’m thinking I should have stayed in my seat, and when it came to my turn (tears and all) simply said, “I’m Amy and I’ve never been pregnant. And I’m beginning to understand that maybe it’s a gift.”

God’s healing of our hearts began to happen long before we became parents. And it continues to teach me.

Brandon and I have signed a contract with Intervarsity Press to co-author our first book together. The topic? Adoption.

That’s right, my editor / writer husband has just accepted perhaps the most challenging job of his career…writing a book with his wife.

We began working on the proposal and figuring out what a book by us about adoption would look like this past spring. Over one particularly long dinner Brandon and I began to flesh out this project and we had that moment of “we’ve got to write this.”

But we still had to walk the process. It had to pass through multiple committees and receive multiple stamps of approval. Even though Brandon has worked with this particular press on several projects, this was no guaranteed deal. We received helpful critique and concerns along the way.

And ultimately they decided to offer us the deal. We put those signed contracts in the mail today.

And it was all business along the way until we got the offer. Then I froze. I’m talking, sat in a chair and stared at the contract for an hour froze (good thing my kids were watching a movie).

Brandon will have his 6th book in print. I will author my first book. And while I am aware that I am totally riding on his coat-tails, I’m also kind of okay with it. And I’m honored because IVP wanted both of us. My husband, the published-brilliant-known author, AND me, the small-time blogger and mom. We get to write this book together.

Now, Brandon and I are the parents of two young adopted children and we are NOT adoption / parenting experts. This is not the book where we tell you how to do it all. Neither is this the book where we share the nitty-gritty details of our children’s stories. No, those stories are their own and we don’t have a right to blast them to the world. There are lots of other stories bound up in ours, and we don’t want to put dear dear people on display.

No, our hope is that this will be a book about adoption that draws in all the people. Because we believe the adoption narrative has something to teach us all. We have been changed as the parents of our two little people and we want you to be changed, too.

And we realize that in doing this we are stepping right into the fray. If we do this book right we will make a few people uncomfortable and we will probably draw criticism. And, believe me when I tell you, I am terrified. But in the we’ve-got-to-do-this-anyway sort of way.

So here we go.

And I have a request: if you are an adoptive family or birth family would you get in touch with us? We will have some questions for you.

And If you are an adult adoptee (or you know an adult adoptee) can you please please PLEASE please contact us? We feel like your voice isn’t heard enough, we want you to be a part of this project.

Friends, this is a heart project for us. It’s close and we want to handle it with care. We want to inspire and challenge and encourage. We want to give voice to the voiceless and we want to correct some misperceptions.

But, mostly, we want to let you in on what God has done in and through our family make-up. Because it’s good. It’s really really good.

Almost 9 years ago Brandon and I sat in the office of our reproductive endocrinologist to have the first in a series of awkward conversations about our respective reproductive systems. My husband (God bless him) made more than a few quiet comments under his breath that had me laughing under mine.

Because when words like “sperm, uterus, fallopian tubes, etc” are thrown around in front of a giant model of the female reproductive system, jokes really take the edge of.

And Brandon’s ability to find humor in the midst of the less than humorous has always been one of my favorite things about him.

Our journey to adopting our J and E held within it some of the most painful moments of our lives but ultimately led us to deep-in-your-belly kind of laughter. And laughter for us has become a sort of sacred exercise.

Right now there are lots of things happening in our country that aren’t funny. A human rights crisis on our borders has Brandon and me talking seriously about how to be a voice for the voiceless. A young black boy being wrongfully arrested by police simply because of the color of his skin has us crying as we picture our own beautiful boy. Reading a children’s book about Jackie Robinson forced us to engage in conversations at bedtime with our 6 year old (once again) about the tragic history of our country that at one point didn’t allow people that look like him to do something as simple as play baseball.

All of these things bring a different type of heartache. All of them require courage and conviction. Many of them have us in tears. Some of them produce an angry determination to effect change.

Brandon and I attend a church in our neighborhood that is beautifully diverse. Yesterday we prayed over the atrocities happening across our country. With courage and conviction we asked for justice and we prayed for peace and wisdom. We grieved for the families being torn apart, and for the young men and women losing their lives to senseless violence. We heard a sermon about how fighting for diversity (and justice) is a fulfillment of Acts 15. And at the end of all this we sang Good Good Father in Spanish and in English and I found myself with tears in my eyes over the incredible goodness that our God brings.

But you know what else we did? We laughed. We laughed over how some of our members salsa through worship. We laughed over a prank one of our pastors pulled on the other at a recent retreat. We laughed over silly things our children did. We laughed over the mundane. We laughed because that’s what friends do. And because joy in the face of heartache is our special privilege as Christians.

We hope to teach our children many, many things but chief among them we want J and E to laugh. To laugh with joy at the thrill of their life’s adventure. To laugh with humility as they try (and perhaps fail at) new things. To laugh with kindness as they embrace the people around them in the fullness of their uniqueness. To laugh with wisdom (i.e. at the right time) but deep in their belly.

Love that grin!

Because laughter heals. A life of true, deep in your belly, laughter produces life.

(Simply) Laugh is more than just a blog title. Ultimately, it’s a way of life for us. Wont you join us?

…Because sometimes you find yourself living a life that you never imagined.

This past Friday, I had a rare moment alone to get some errands done. As I walked by myself to the grocery store (coat zipped up, hands in pockets, scarf on, head down), I caught a glimpse of myself in a store window and saw a different woman than I used to be.

Not different in a fundamental sense but different in reality. Different in life.

I’ve been working on a project lately that isn’t ready to share. And I’ve been practicing the discipline of writing, and I’ve been learning the art of deciphering what words are ready for the public and what words are reserved for later. (and I’ve been perhaps putting my editor-husband to his ultimate test…editing his wife’s writing.)

And I keep catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. A glimpse of a woman with brown hair and no makeup.

A glimpse of a woman prepared for all the city will bring, zig-zagging among pedestrians.

A glimpse of a woman weary and impatient from a day of public transportation with littles.

A glimpse of a woman who is trying her hardest to find the next thing.

A glimpse of a woman with a messy living room and pile of recycling.

A glimpse of a woman who is broken and cracked, but beautiful and whole.

And this woman isn’t exactly who I imagined I’d be. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. Because the truth is, despite my deepest heart’s desire, I never even thought of living in a city like New York. I never could have dreamed how being married for 12 years and a mom for 6 years would have molded, shaped, changed, broken, and strengthened me. I never imagined having the confidence that this woman has to fight for her people and (on her bravest days) pursue her dreams.

And I never knew the courage and sacrifice it would take to slow down and lean in to the children God has graciously placed in my care. To choose the unexpected because it provides safety and security for my oldest.

To choose less productivity because it gives affection to my youngest.

To choose being their mom first over the pursuit of the many desires and passions and professional pursuits.

To choose to see my children fully in the brokenness of their stories but not wholly without the hope of their futures.

Being a woman who is driven, determined, opinionated, cautious, kind, and tender…this is how God created me.

Being an adoptive mom who is slow to talk, quick to listen, fully of mercy and compassion…a white mom who is taking awkward and uncomfortable steps to put my white-ness aside and enter into the brown world of my two loves…a wife who is the ultimate partner in the small things and the biggest things…this is how Christ is re-creating me.

Coming to terms with my brokenness, with the cracks in my appearance, with the lines and wrinkles on my face, with the different-than-expected-but-incredibly-beautiful-life that I get to lead…

Well, this is my journey. What’s yours?

(very important side note: this post is in no way meant to communicate that moms must put aside their professional dreams for their children. I know and respect lots of moms who have thriving careers because that is exactly where they should be. This is just my personal journey towards different professional goals than I may have planned a few years ago.)

So this week Eliza and I walked our very well loved, but still in excellent condition, Uppababy Vista over to a local ministry that serves families of young children in our neighborhood. I was glad to have helped a family in need but it honestly felt like a real loss.

My bright yellow Vista has served us well as a family. Both our babies used the bassinet as their first bed. Walks with Jamie as an infant and later with both kids helped me keep my sanity in the haze of baby-hood. The roomy basket could hold bikes and scooters easily and I loved taking it grocery shopping or to the farmer’s market. I had researched WAY too much before settling on this stroller and we did our best to use it as much as possible.

We moved it to NYC knowing that Eliza was close to outgrowing it. With it, the kids and I explored our neighborhood parks and streets. Jamie rode on the rumbleseat and it was, honestly, one of the few places Eliza felt safe when we were out. I pushed it with ease. It served us well.

Lest you think I’m being paid by Uppababy to promote their high quality strollers 😉 I should probably get to my point….

Our Uppababy has always been more than a stroller to me.

When we were waiting to adopt our first child, our caseworkers had been very intentional about encouraging us to wait to prepare for our baby. Don’t decorate a room…don’t buy all the clothes…don’t have a baby shower…just wait. Everything you need, they explained, you can get when you bring your baby home.

I had watched people close to us walk through the heartbreak of situations falling through. And when a decorated and fully stocked room remained empty, I knew that there was wisdom is not fully preparing. In the end, there is nothing certain about the adoption process, and nothing is a done deal until the judge says it is.

I needed some physical representation of God’s provision. I needed something to hold on to. So I bought a few outfits that were particularly meaningful to me and I kept them hanging in my closet as a symbol of God’s faithfulness to provide, even if I couldn’t see that provision yet. I wore a certain necklace almost everyday that a friend gave to me as a symbol of the faith we all had that God would provide.

We purchased a carseat with money from grandparents and when I found a great deal on our Vista, my parents graciously bought it. And I kept it in the corner of our guest room wrapped with a blanket that some very sweet girls had knitted for me. And over the almost two years that followed, it became a sacred spot in our home.

When people came to visit, I packed it away in the closet. But otherwise, I enjoyed looking at it when I walked past the room. I cried over it when situations fell through. I found myself staring at it when life was overwhelmingly hard. When darkness threatened to swallow me up, this was the physical manifestation of ultimate hope.

And just like the usually-not-so-nice cat that God used to comfort me in the midst of our infertility, this stroller, this tool, this inanimate object, became sacred. After having looked at the stroller for more than a year, when I put Jamie in the bassinet that first night (and checked on him roughly 135 times), it felt as though it was more than a bed. I was wrapping my baby in the longings of my heart. I was placing him to rest, in the prayers of our family and friends, in the generosity of his grandparents. I was, ultimately, laying him on the altar that I had met and worshipped God at for more than a year.

And, of course, the stroller in and of itself, is simply a tool. I always knew, I couldn’t keep it forever. Honestly, I’m glad for the empty space in our apartment, and I can’t think of any better legacy than passing this symbol of God’s faithfulness onto a family in need. Because the Vista is a work horse and has lots of years of use ahead of it.

I have this habit of not blogging until there is some big family announcement to make. And, well, today is no exception.

It’s big and it’s exciting and is beautiful and it’s scary…and it’s, well, all the things.

But most of all, it is fulfillment of our deepest hearts desires. It is an invitation to step out of our comfort zone and to do something big and bold and important. It is an opportunity to do something we have been called to.

On June 1, Brandon will begin a new job as Director of Content and Distribution for Redeemer City to City based in New York City. You can find out more about the organization here.

In short, Brandon will get to be a part of training and equipping pastors to plant churches all over the world in very secular, hard to reach places. And, of course, there’s so much more to it than that. But, that’s easier to explain in person!

For the 11 years that Brandon and I have been married, we have dreamed about planting a church in this type of place. So with this move, we get to not only help with this mission around the world, but we are eager to join a church plant in New York City. And we will get to be a part of a big vision that started with Tim Keller and has reached cities around the world.

And, friends, I can’t even tell you how our hearts are bursting with this news. We know that nothing will be perfect with this transition, and that there will be good and not-so-good days ahead of us. But the calling and vision of City to City has been worked in our hearts and we just can’t wait to be a part of it.

And all that would be enough to make us go. But this move also hits something a little deeper for me.

One of my deepest hearts desires has been for my children to have a piece of what I grew up with in Singapore. And, while, I am always encouraging those around me to ask for big things from God and to trust him to fulfill them…I could never bring myself to ask about this one. I had decided that it was something that I could sacrifice. It was something that I pushed down and out of the way. I grieved it, but rarely acknowledged it.

And then Brandon began to talk with Mark Reynolds at City to City about this position… and I began to see this dream come to life. I began to see flesh on those bones. I began to see before me that God was fulfilling something he had whispered to my heart a long time ago.

And what better way for a dream to be fulfilled, then with a job that seems tailor made for my husband and his calling, gifts, and abilities. And with an organization whose calling has been worked in our hearts and minds.

So, here we go. There are a lot of things in front us as we prepare for this transition. We are selling our house, our cars and most of our stuff. And we are looking at schools and neighborhoods. But, we are also preparing to leave this place.

We have been trusted with much in our time in Conway. There is never a perfect time to leave, of course, but we increasingly sense God’s provision in transitioning these places that we love to new leadership. And, of course, we are committed to doing everything in our power to help these places not skip a beat. But we are also confidant God will take care of OBU at New Life Church, of NLC School of Ministry, and of Pediatrics Plus Developmental Preschool. We love these places. We have been honored by their trust in us as leaders. And we are confidant is the legacy they will continue to build.

And, well, I guess it’s it. Let me close by saying that we covet your prayers. We ask for your patience as we balance a lot of things in the next few months (and therefore do a poor job as friends). And we hope to spend time with many before we leave.

One year ago today we woke up in our home as a family of four for the very first time.

Eliza was born early in the morning on June 28 and it took a week for the state of Oklahoma to let us leave. It was a stressful week with a lot of the unpredicted things coming up.

But I don’t think I’ve ever written how it ended.

The state of Oklahoma had been giving us lots of conflicting information. We had all of our paperwork done and completed, but after Eliza was born they asked for brand new paperwork and told us of requirements they had never mentioned before. My long suffering, incredibly patient husband had just about had his full.

At the end of the week, on Thursday, July 3, the state of Oklahoma tells us that Eliza’s birthmom (J) needs to go before a judge. This was a one more requirement they had never mentioned before. And we had to find someone get it done before the holiday weekend.

Through some very kind individuals we are able to get an appointment with an Oklahoma judge for 2 p.m. that day. J and her dad met us there.

At this appointment J held Eliza while the judge asked her if she understood her decision. I couldn’t take my eyes off the two of them. J looked at Eliza most of the time as she gave her statement. Then we went into a court room to wait and the judge said everything was done. J hugged Eliza one more time. Her dad did the same and then we said our goodbyes. A few minutes later we got official permission to leave the state and return home. That night we were home.

This image has been forever burned in my mind. J knew what she was doing. And she did it out of love for her child. The state of Oklahoma gave J and her parents a lot of extra things to do. And they did them all.

There is a misconception about adoption that if a mother loves the child, she wont go through with it.

Adoptions get disrupted all the time for a multitude of reasons. And many mothers change their minds and make the decision to parent. And they have every right to do so.

(And there are many adoption situations that arise out of abuse or mistreatment. I’m not talking about those. )

Both the decision to parent and the decision to place your child for adoption can be loving decisions.

Many people have asked us about our relationship with Eliza’s birth family. And they don’t often understand what it must be like. If we’re honest, we don’t really either. We’re all figuring this out as we go. But the fact is, these people have become our very own family. We love them. They are a part of our daughter, they love her deeply and so they are a part of us. But it’s not just Eliza, they also love Jamie. We keep in touch and they are just as eager to hear how he is doing. They love him. They love me. They love Brandon.

We don’t know when Eliza will get to see them all again. We are praying for wisdom to know when it’s time.

But we are so incredibly thankful, honored, privileged and humbled that they would entrust our sweet baby to us.

Adoption is a beautiful and incredible thing. It’s hard. It can be uncomfortable. It’s messy and unpredictable. It’s full of brokenness and heartache. But the grace is so very rich. The mercy is overflowing.

I left behind some pretty awesome friends. The type that cry with you, laugh with you, go to Ikea or the outlet mall or the arboretum with you just so you can get out of the house. The kind that help you pick out a dress for your brother’s wedding, or show up to CE work-day (not because they love sorting markers but because they love you).

These were friends who let me share in their children’s lives, even before I had one of my own. And they were friends who would schedule play-dates at the drop of the hat to re-establish sanity.

When Brandon and I grieved multiple close-call adoptions, these were the friends who brought meals over. They listened. They cried.

When I was pretty sure I couldn’t function any longer, these were friends who rearranged their schedules to have breakfast, coffee, or just a phone call.

Seriously, these people are wonderful.

When we received the call about Jamie, these were the friends who leapt into action. They pestered me until I finished baby registries so they could shop. They cried with me in Target and brought me baby blankets. They supplied everything we would need to welcome a baby home. In less than 72 hours. Seriously. Everything from diapers, clothes, toys, blankets, detergent, bottles, meals for weeks after we brought him home… Absolutely. Everything.

And these were the people who came over to visit our new little man. They brought books. They brought their children. They brought diaper genies and onesies. They were as eager as grandparents to hold him, to tell him how much he was waited for. How much he was already loved.

You understand what I mean, right?

They babysat at a moment’s notice. They brought by surprise (freshly baked) gluten-free treats. They helped us move. Three times. They didn’t flinch when Jamie covered them in spit-up. (well, maybe they flinched a little). And when I was having a hard time figuring out the work / mom / wife / balance, it was these friends who volunteered to bring us a meal every week. And not just any meal, a gourmet meal.

They welcomed us into their homes for lunch or dinner. They got together really early every other Thursday with my husband.They lent us baby gates, saws, any tool we might want. They sent us cards, poems, thoughts, encouragements. They knitted us blankets and other items.

They read and even commented on our blogs.

They prayed. Oh, how they prayed.

They provided for our financial needs on more than one occasion. They gave generously towards our adoption costs.

They went to Alfies with us. They let me order for them at Asian restaurants. They heartily enjoyed Brandon’s redneck tales.

One of the things I love about my parents is that they always had good friends. And these friends became honorary Aunts, Uncles and Grandparents. Even when they moved away, they still were a part of my life.

This move has brought us closer to family (and they’re pretty great, too). And it’s brought us closer to some very dear friends (you know, the kind who let you eat pork chops anyway you want). And we’re already building new relationships that we are so excited about.

But I’m so excited about Jamie knowing all the people who welcomed his birth with such excitement. Near and far. They are each and all a part of his story. And we are so thankful.

I’m not going to write about my usually happy toddler who is being terrorized by molars and is therefore turning the terror on innocent bystanders.

I’m not even going to write about how annoyed I get over complete strangers who read my husband’s blog and then feel the need to comment, not about the post, but about dear husband’s integrity. No, I wont write about that.

And I wont bore you with the weather. (though it is stinkin’ hot. Seriously).

Instead I thought I’d talk about our move. I know, you’re probably thinking those other topics sound far more interesting (except for the weather, that one’s never interesting). But I promise I’ll make this worth it. Seriously.

It would probably surprise you to know that this move to Conway was first suggested by me. This past Christmas we were here visiting family. After a lovely visit with dear friends to their church, I felt an overwhelming sense that this was not only a place we could afford to live, but was a place we could flourish. That, perhaps, this was the place God had been preparing us for. I know, it surprised me, too. So we talked in the car as we drove to each family stop. We talked when we got back and by mid-January we had made the decision.

You see, we had been feeling for quite some time that God was preparing us to leave Wheaton. We loved our 7 1/2 years there, but we just couldn’t shake that this was not permanent. But, when you’re husband’s a freelancer, it’s not a job that takes him to another city. It’s a family decision.

So in mid-January I told my pastor of our decision and we prepared to leave. We knew it would take quite a bit of coordination to make this move possible, so we gave ourselves 6 months to get all the details squared away. In February I told the rest of the staff. In March we announced it to the church. People were more gracious and encouraging than we could have asked for and most definitely more than we deserved. They generously expressed their sadness at our leaving, and their hope for what this next stage might bring.

We began to get more and more excited about what would come next. And we became more and more sad at what we were leaving behind. Bitter. Sweet. We had been blessed by a church family that welcomed us and enfolded us almost immediately. I had served on staff for 6 years and we had been members for just over 7. Brandon had been a deacon for the last several years. This family had walked with us through an incredibly hard four years as we waited for our first child. They had cried with us as we shared of our infertility. They rejoiced with us when we moved forward with adoption. They even got frustrated along with us as the process took longer than any of us expected. They wept with us at each close call that didn’t bring our baby. And they came around us with the great joy when we welcomed our James David home. Every time I dress him or see him play with his toys I am reminded of the generosity of this community. Friends, we are truly, truly blessed.

But God was calling us on. So, just over a week ago we packed up our belongings (again with the help of our community), we said goodbye to dear friends and we drove 13 hours to Conway.

Brandon was in the truck with the cat. I was in the car with the toddler. We joked beforehand that it was a toss up over whose trip would prove most difficult. Well, friends, I definitely won that battle. But we made it.

And it’s all sort of surreal. I have had my freakout moments over how much I miss our dear friends. It’s kind of hard to go from constant contact (text, email, phone calls) to almost nothing. I didn’t handle it so well.

After over 3 weeks of frequent babysitters and a house increasingly full of boxes, Jamie was struggling to adjust. We had lots of tears, tantrums and just plain crankiness.

And that’s the hard. But you want to know the good? We were greeted at our temporary apartment by family who helped unload those things we needed immediately. Then the next day a group met Brandon at the storage place to unload our entire truck. They were done within 30 minutes. Several came over to the apartment to help me unpack a few things. We had lunch with dear friends who now live just over an hour away. And we had dinner that night with new friends.

Within a week of being here we had met a whole host of people and Brandon has even spoken briefly at an evening Worship service. We have had dinner with another family and have several more appointments this week with new and old friends.

We are overwhelmed by God’s great provision. I’m still adjusting. Brandon is still adjusting. Jamie is still teething. But God is also still faithful. We are not only making it but we are thriving.

There are still a lot of unanswered questions. We don’t know yet exactly what our lives will look like long term. We’re looking for a long term place to live (and have a few encouraging leads) and we’re figuring out how this balance of life, ministry, publishing and academics really works. And I still have a class to plan for.

And, on our good days, we’re loving it. But, as much as we felt God leading us to this new place, we still miss the old. But, honestly, we wouldn’t have it any other way. We know that it is such a blessing to have loved a community so deeply. I don’t think I would want to leave any other way.

And with that, I will make you this promise: I will blog at least once a week. You may not need it. But I do.